


Fuming

by Oshii



Series: I Have That Effect on Women ;) Lucifer H/C Prompt Fills [11]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Buddy Cops, Cold, Coughing, Douchifer, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hellflu, Hurt/Comfort, LA traffic with exhaust fumes and honking aren't helping, Lucifer is not having a good time, Sickfic, Vomiting, and neither is Dan, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22161766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshii/pseuds/Oshii
Summary: Dan, lucky enough to have caught a horrible summer cold/hellflu, is also privileged enough to be stuck with Lucifer after Chloe has to stay home and tend to Trixie. Stuck in traffic on their way to a case, the combination of swallowed snot and hacking and Lucifer being Lucifer and exhaust fumes and exhaustion begins to take its toll on Dan. Sick!Dan, concerned!Lucifer, H/C.
Series: I Have That Effect on Women ;) Lucifer H/C Prompt Fills [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505822
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	Fuming

**Author's Note:**

> lets-get-rickety-rekt said:
> 
> Douchifer, where Dan is horrifically sick at the side of the road and Lucifer is waaaaaay out of his element. Call me out for projecting, but maybe Dan has a horrific cold or the flu and his stomach is fed up of all the gunk he's been swallowing, idk really just run with it bc I know whatever you write will be gold. All I actually need is Dan puking, the rest is up to however you're feeling with it
> 
> Originally posted Jan. 7, 2020.

“I still don’t see why they stuck me with _you_ and not the Detective.”

Dan’s expression hardened with exasperated disgust at both the L.A. traffic and Lucifer’s stupidity. “Lucifer, you know I am a detective too, right?” His derision was lessened somewhat by the congestion clogging his nasal passages. “Or do you just not show me the same respect ‘cuz my tits weren’t out in _Hot Tub High School_?”

“Daniel,” Lucifer began, glancing over from the passenger side, aviators doing little to hide his scorn. “Not that I wouldn’t welcome a glance at those olive-skinned pectorals, but I feel your resentment may be a bit misplaced. Perhaps some more of that slimy decongestant goo might help?”

Dan visibly balked at the thought, lip curling in disgust, and on cue, he brought an elbow up to his mouth to catch another wet, hacking cough, making a left turn at the light. “Ngh. Lay off, man. I feel like crap and Chloe’s at home with Trixie…ugh, fucking _Olga_ , wish she’d just die already.” A horn blared as Dan accelerated through a yellow light to get around a slow Camry. He was quite pale, and his eyes were…moist-looking. He did not look well, and Lucifer wasn’t at all sure he was cognizant.

“Ah, Dou—Dan,” Lucifer tried again, hastily correcting the familiar endearment when Dan shot him a vicious side-glare, holding up a placating hand and clearing his throat diplomatically. “Our victim isn’t going to get any deader, so maybe you could ease up on the Mario Andretti shenanigans in the meantime? I, for one, would like to enjoy a few more decades at least here on Earth before Dad decides to intervene again.”

Dan shook his head, sniffling back a disgusting amount of mucus and coughing some more, cringing afterwards at the effort and the taste. “You’re so weird, man,” he muttered, slowing to a halt as they approached the downtown gridlock. “Dammit!” He slammed a fist against the wheel. He’d meant to take the other street, precisely to avoid this central clusterfuck. “Now we’ll really be late.”

“As I said…” Lucifer sighed, pushing his aviators up the bridge of his nose and settling in for the wait. He reached into his pocket and produced a silver flask, taking a swig and offering it to Dan, who looked at him like he’d grown three more heads.

“Seriously, dude?” Dan reached out and pushed down Lucifer’s arm, hiding the flask from view. “I’m a cop. This is a squad car. If anyone saw that—”

“Oh, relax, Douche. It’s an _undercover_ car, for one, and secondly, a drop of Granddad’s cough medicine might be just the cure for that tuberculosis infestation you’re harboring. Go on, have a swig.”

Dan side-eyed him, hard, before pressing his mouth into a thin line and grabbing the flask.

“Atta _boy,_ Daniel!” Lucifer crowed as Dan took a hearty gulp, immediately devolving into a hacking fit of coughing, face reddening, tears budding on his lashes and everything. Quickly, he fumbled the flask back into Lucifer’s hand, putting his own hands back on the wheel like nothing’d happened.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, blinking several times. “What _is_ that, turpentine?”

“How _dare_ you,” breathed Lucifer, taken aback by that audacity. “That is top shelf _scotch_ , Detective, and I won’t have your ignorance sully my tastes or the efforts of those hardworking peat farmers across the pond!”

Traffic inched forward, but not by much, and the horns were starting to blare. Overhead, the noon sun beat down with ferocious alacrity, warmth seeping through the thick layer of smog blanketing the city. Exhaust fumes permeated the thick air, adding a nice pungent stink to the oppressive afternoon heat. Dan’s summer cold/flu/SARS he’d been fortunate enough to contract was not helping him stay alert, nor was it assisting his patience in both this traffic and in dealing with the narcissistic cocksucker to his right, who was currently whistling with cheerful abandon while scrolling through his phone, watching funny cat videos _on full volume_ and laughing to himself. Dan gritted his teeth, sniffling and drumming his fingers on the wheel and sighing heavily and _really_ wishing Chloe hadn’t stolen the XM hookup for her squad car.

“Lucifer,” he finally snapped after the third reiteration of the _same cat video_ , “fucking _stop_ , man.”

His head began to throb, pulsing a steady beat through the soft tissues of his brain. Dan closed his eyes, sighing quietly through his mouth (his nose was completely stuffed now) and wishing he was at home, on his couch, washcloth over his face and antihistamines ingested and consciousness absent. Trixie was just as sick as he was, and their usual babysitter was MIA (probably sick, too, or maybe dead), so Chloe’d had to stay home with her, leaving Dan to work this case _and_ deal with Lucifer.

“LUCIFER,” he raised his voice, whipping his head over to glare at the consultant, who was now Facetiming his…wasn’t that his fucking therapist? Good, actually, maybe she could talk some sense into him.

“Oh, hold on a moment, Doctor,” Lucifer muttered, pausing the live stream with an eyeroll and turning to face Dan. “You do realize that interrupting a therapy session is incredibly douchey of you, right, Daniel?”

Another slight flow in traffic progressed, and Dan took full advantage of the opportunity to let the car roll forward a few more inches, groaning gutturally as Lucifer resumed his video session.

“Sorry about that, Doctor. You were saying?” He smiled benevolently into the phone, and Dan could hear Linda Martin’s tinny voice coming through the speaker, praising Lucifer about some recent emotional breakthrough involving his brother and a…flaming sword? Man, he really was sick. Starting to hear things. Auditory hallucinations. He thought Malcolm had mentioned those a few times after Palmetto. Post-coma, but before kidnapping him and tying him to a post in a parking garage.

The greenhouse heat beating down through the windshield and exhaust fumes and congestion clogging his sinuses was making him dizzy. Dan closed his eyes again, resting his brow in a hand and his elbow on the window. He wanted a backrub. He kinda missed Chloe’s companionship at times like this.

“Dan,” Lucifer spoke up, and his voice sent an unanticipated roll of nausea creeping up Dan’s throat. “The doctor says that your phlegmy plague is circulating fiercely throughout the city, and that you’re posing a real danger to the very young and elderly who might be vulnerable to such diseases by coming out into public.” He sounded vaguely amused, and was, judging by his shit-eating smirk. “D’you think she’d have you quarantined if I asked?”

The top of Dan’s stomach constricted as the nausea worsened, and his face contorted miserably. “Ugh. Dude, _please shut up already_.” The weak command trailed off into another thick cough, one that caught in his throat and doubled him over, deep and bronchial and harsh enough to make Lucifer say _hold on_ to his doctor again and give Dan his full attention, eyes wide with concern and everything.

“Daniel? Is this it?” Lucifer forced a little chuckle, but it was tempered with real worry. “Is the end nigh? I think I ought to know if so. At least, I—”

Whatever dumb shit Lucifer had to say next was cut off by Dan abruptly twisting to push open the driver’s side door – still coughing wetly - and leaning out to be suddenly, horribly sick onto the street. Then his own strains of sickness and vomit splattering onto the asphalt was enough to drown out Lucifer, but now he was experiencing his own personal degree of suck that sucked even worse.

Horns honked and blared around them as (obviously) they missed their chance to roll forward another three inches in line, and Lucifer hollered something out the window as the SUV next to them shouted something obscene in their direction. Dan – gasping for breath, head pounding, seeing nothing but black and flashing stars, struggling to breathe around burning acrid bile and thick clogging mucus – distantly heard the rhythmic clicking of the hazard lights, and realized Lucifer must have turned them on. He was also – still – Facetiming his therapist during this whole debacle.

“Oh, dear God, Doctor, it’s awful,” he cringed dramatically, actually shielding the phone from view with one hand (or, rather, shielding the view of the person on the other line). “He’s vomiting with wild abandon in the middle of lunch-hour traffic, leaving me a helpless and stranded passenger. Everybody is mad and road-ragey and I want to go home.”

Oh, Dan was going to strangle this dickhead. As soon as he could see straight and catch his breath. Another wave of nausea swept through him, and he doubled over again with a wrenching heave, stomach squeezing harshly to expel the last remnants of its contents in a splattering pile on the ground.

“—what do you—no!” Lucifer sounded truly aghast. “I certainly should _hope_ not! Daniel!” He called, like Dan was going to answer him. “You aren’t bringing up any blood, are you? The Doctor says a case of Ebola was reported in New York by the CDC last week.” He pronounced it _Eboler_ , and sounded genuinely distressed at the notion that Dan might be infected. It was almost touching.

The SUV began to inch its way over into their lane, bumper nearly scraping Dan’s side panel as he slid between Dan’s fender and the bumper of the car in front as, inch by inch, clearance was granted. Dan was able to straighten up with a grating, ragged sigh, spitting out a thick string of mucus and wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Man, he didn’t even have a water bottle handy to rinse.

“Daniel, I know you’re indisposed, but we really need to get moving,” fussed Lucifer. “Shall I drive?”

Dan sniffed with finality and sat up, pulling the door shut and settling into his seat with a rough sigh. His head was positively pounding, now, and he would have literally killed for some water. “Just turn that phone off and be quiet. Please.”

Lucifer, mindful of Dan’s current state, actually obeyed. “Sorry, Doctor, I’ve got to go.”

The traffic seemed to be easing up a little, now that several cars had pulled in front of them, and Dan resumed his task of navigating the labyrinth with morose resignation, determined to reach their destination (or, better yet, the gas station up on the right goddammit on the right he’d have to pull four lanes to the right there was no way, he started looking for a station on the left).

“Dan?” Not Daniel, not Douche, Dan. Lucifer must actually give a shit this time. “Are you all right?”

Dan, lost in the sheer gratefulness of being able to accelerate to an earth-shattering 35 miles per hour, uttered a sigh that tapered into a shaky little cough. His eyelashes fluttered, and he was noticeably mouth-breathing. The next intersection promised a Chevron station, lights glowing with bright hope. He sped up a little, whipping into the gas station with all the grace of a drunken sixteen-year-old, sending Lucifer into the dash again with a gasped exclamation of indignity.

“Oh, for—Daniel!” Lucifer shouted, pitch rising as Dan threw the car into park and hastily shoved open his door to be sick again, less splattery this time but more straining. “For Dad’s sakes, man, what’s gotten into you?”

Dan was hanging out of the car, one arm braced against the door, the other against the frame. That hand drifted up to rest on his stomach, muscles heaving painfully. A long string of saliva dangled, and his lashes were clumped together with shining tears. His breathing was ragged, panting. God, somebody just shoot him already. Where was that asshole in the honking SUV right about now?

Distantly, he heard Lucifer mutter “all right,” and undo his seatbelt and open his own door. Dan closed his eyes, focusing on pattern-breathing, seriously wondering if the pounding in his head wasn’t a ruptured aneurysm. Man, he hoped Trixie wasn’t this sick. Pity twisted his heart as he imagined his daughter wrestling with the throes of this hellflu, and he wondered wildly if Lucifer and his doctor weren’t onto something after all, with the whole plague-epidemic thing.

“All right,” came Lucifer’s voice, suddenly from above his head, and Dan blearily opened his eyes and craned his neck to see all six-foot-four of Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Hedonistic mercifully blocking the sun, peering down at him through dark eyes made strangely warm with unprecedented compassion. “Out you get. I’ll phone the precinct and have them send over another detective, as you’re obviously in no shape to do any worthy investigating. Go on, passenger side, chop chop.”

Dan squinted one eye against both the dizziness and the sun, face contorted in a grimace of post-puke pain. “Ugh…huh? Nn, no, no way, man, I…” The dizziness intensified, and he hung his head, not at all sure an encore performance wasn’t about to commence. “…yeah. You better drive.”

“Mmhm.” Lucifer’s mouth was set in a grim line of determination, clearly uncomfortable and out-of-his-element but willing into deal with this like a gentleman. “I insist.”

As they switched sides, both parties being careful not to step into the pile of splattered shame all over the blacktop as they maneuvered around the vehicle, Dan found himself exhaling with quiet relief as he slid into the passenger side of his own squad car (even if the leather interior did now smell like Lucifer, all expensive douchebag cologne and fancy cigarettes and scotch and musky sexy grossness that probably would have really turned Dan on if he’d been a chick, oh god, was this how Chloe felt?).

“Right, then,” Lucifer declared, shutting the driver’s side door and immediately making a face. “I forget just how shrimpy you are, Daniel, good heavens, how are you not in the engine compartment?” He continued to grumble as he reached down and adjusted the seat. Dan, so beyond done with today, simply lolled his neck to look over at Lucifer.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice rougher than 80-grit sandpaper, and when Lucifer glanced over at him, he licked his lips dryly. “C’n…can you get me some water, man?”

Lucifer, tongue already forming the syllables of a witty retort, stopped dead when he saw just how pitiful Dan looked. He’d seen bubonic plague victims with more spunk, boils notwithstanding.

“Certainly,” he murmured. “I’ll look for a suitable receptacle as well, so we might avoid having to pull over in that traffic again.”

Dan’s eyes closed once more, and he settled more comfortably into his seat. “Sounds good.”


End file.
